


For My Heart Wants You Only

by whowhatsitwhich



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Not sure what it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whowhatsitwhich/pseuds/whowhatsitwhich
Summary: When someone finally came to speak with her in the darkest morning hour, they brought with them a flimsy bag containing his personal effects and apologies. We exhausted every option available. I’m sorry, Miss Hooper, but it wasn’t enough.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a weird amalgam of thoughts that came together in my brain. I have no idea how it will turn out but yeah...if you've seen the movie Return To Me, that will give you the gist. Come along if you will...this could be fun.

 

_Hurry back, hurry back  
Oh my love hurry back I’m yours~Return to Me, Dean Martin_

They took Tom from her at the doors to A&E and left her cooling her heels in an uncomfortable chair for what felt like hours. When someone finally came to speak with her in the darkest morning hour, they brought with them a flimsy bag containing his personal effects and apologies. W _e exhausted every option available. I’m sorry, Miss Hooper, but it wasn’t enough._

Those words rang in her ears for days after; alone in her apartment with nothing but questions and a cat sitting by the door waiting for someone who would never come. 

* * *

His mind…overcome with racing thoughts, contradictory urges, and peripheral observations….had never been the most pressing of his problems. It caused its fair share no doubt but, for all the hardships it caused…it was still his greatest asset. Within it, he created a repository…a palace in name if not in fact….and there he dwelled. His body, long regaled to second class status behind his mind, fell to ruin around him. 

“I don’t have a heart,” he was prone to insist. 

“Be that as it may,” Mycroft observed behind his steepled fingers, “it is your heart that put you in hospital. It’s your heart that needs to be replaced.” 

“Replaced,” Sherlock echoed. Pop one out and then pop another in. Just like that.” Snapping his fingers, he coughed out a laugh and blinked at his brother’s confusion. “If I’m dying, Mycroft, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing I’ve done it to myself.” 

“Spare me your morbid expositions, brother mine. There’s no time for it. They’ll be coming in soon to take you up.”

“They’ve found one then?” 

“They have.”

“And they’re giving it to me?”

“They are.” 

“Will you do something for me? A favor, Mycroft?”

“You don’t have many favors left, Sherlock. What do you want?”

“The heart…the person it belonged to….their family. Find them for me? I need….” 

“You need to rest,” Mycroft commanded. “Save your strength. Do that for me.” He slowly and awkwardly took his brother’s hand and peered into those wide, frightened eyes. “Do that for me and I’ll do this for you. I promise.” 

He let go only when they came to take Sherlock up to surgery. Pulling his phone out, he called Anthea and told her exactly what he wanted done. After that, Mycroft Holmes did something he’d seldom if ever done in his life….he prayed. 

 

 


	2. Hurry home to my arms

 

_Hurry back, hurry home to my arms_

_To my lips and my heart ~Dean Martin, Return to Me_

The letter came in the post on a Tuesday, an innocuous plain envelope with her name written with a fine hand in black ink. Molly glanced curiously at where the return address usually resided and found only a snowy expanse. Her brows lifted but she set the letter aside and went back to the post mortem on Mr. Jenkins. 

An aneurysm of the brain unfortunately. It was a fairly obvious case from the onset but Mike Stamford let it be known that the widow had requested a more in depth finding.  The report had taken up the biggest part of her morning but that was more due to killing time rather than being exacting. Her gaze wandered back to the white envelope propped up on her keyboard. No. Best to finish up the task in front of her and then she’d deal with the other. 

* * *

“Molly, I want you to take the rest of the day.”

She crossed her arms and stared at Mike in amusement. “You’re joking?”

“No. I’m afraid I’m not. You’re at the ragged end, my girl. We’ve all seen it but I thought you would pace yourself. I believed you when you said you were fine. Well, you’re not fine. Not even close.”

“I…Mike…you can’t…”  She cut off, drawing in a ragged breath and letting it back out again. “I need to work. I have to.” 

“You have to take care of yourself, Molly. You have to process what’s happened to you. It’s the only way to heal.” 

Realizing that she wasn’t likely to talk him round, Molly shrugged out of her lab coat and hung it on the hook behind the door. She gathered up her bag, the mysterious envelope and her mobile before giving her boss a last lingering look. “How long?” 

“Take the day. Ring me tomorrow and we’ll see what the schedule looks like.”

“Mike, please don’t.” Her desperation came fully to the fore then…and the sadness she tried so hard to conceal when others could see. For the first time, she let her emotions have free rein.  Tears welled and overflowed, marking a burning trail down her cheek. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m not doing it to you, Molly. I’m doing this for you.” 

She left Barts without another word. 

* * *

Tucking her feet under her, Molly leaned back into the cushions and stroked Toby’s head as he leaped up next to her. The envelope lay there like an unwelcome secret, drawing her gaze despite Toby’s insistent bids for attention and the background noise of the telly. 

“What are you?” She wondered aloud. “Where did you come from?” But of course, it declined to answer. Pale against the dark wood of the table, it mocked her attempts to puzzle out its origins. “For God’s sake, Molly, just open it. Maybe it’s one of those sweepstakes notices saying you’ve won a cruise or something.”

Running a finger beneath the flap, she removed another smaller envelope and a typewritten sheet. She sat the other letter in her lap and spread out the folds so that she could read it. 

_Miss Hooper:  
This came as a highly irregular request but under the circumstances, we have decided to grant it. It is our hope that the enclosed will provide you with both comfort and closure. The decision is yours as to whether or not you read the letter from the recipient of your fiance’s heart. The identity will continue to be anonymous but giving them the chance to express their gratitude can be of great value. Please let me know if we can be of further assistance. _

_Yours,  
Constance Mayberry_

“Dammit,” Molly hissed, roughly daubing at a fresh fall of tears. “Damn them all.” 

Her initial impulse was to shred the missive into a thousand pieces, until she could no longer grasp the scraps. Her second was to leave the flat and the letter and not look back. A holiday, a shopping trip, a walk. Anything to get away. Her third and final nudge was to pick up the cream colored sleeve and feel the silken texture of high end stationery. Before she could talk herself out of it, she ripped it open and removed the card. There was no salutation. The writer apparently preferred to get directly to the point. 

_I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for the loss of your loved one. There’s nothing I can say, no words I can offer that can adequately express my gratitude for what you did for me. I am considered to be a smart man but never have I ever been called a good one. I have tried to be of use to the world but since all this happened, I have discovered that there are other qualities, other traits that might be just as important; just as useful.  These qualities are not ones that I inherently possess but I believe that I can learn them, practice them, endeavor to master them given time. That is what your gift has given me…more time. I wish that this chance hadn’t come at such a cost to you and yours. Please believe me when I say that if I could change it, I would.  
Yours in gratitude,   
Patient 2211895_

“You would change it, would you, Patient 2211895? That’s something we have in common.” Molly tucked the letter back inside and closed her eyes, allowing herself one more time to give into her grief. 


End file.
